


the long way round

by deeppainpizza



Category: Canis Series
Genre: Dear Mr Hatter, Dear Mr Rain, Domestic, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Series, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-06-11 00:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15303219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deeppainpizza/pseuds/deeppainpizza
Summary: “So what’d you do if I hadn’t picked you up?” Satoru asks, still deflecting. Ryou shifts toward him and a shallow smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.“I’d probably reach my destination with sheer willpower,” Ryou replies.Satoru laughs to himself, bringing his cigarette back to his lips. “So I made you go the long way round. Sorry.”A collection of non-linear one-shots following the lives of Satoru and Ryou, post-series. Some light, some dirty. A lotta love either way.





	1. one

_“_ Ryou really likes it here, doesn't he?” A-ko asks, watching him and B-O talk outside the front window. Satoru glances up to see for himself, noting the genuine smile on Ryou’s face, then takes another hat from A-ko; he commits it to memory, these little moments where Ryou is distanced from the past that's always biting at his heels, and goes back to work.

“What makes you say that?” he asks, purposefully casual and a touch sarcastic as he adjusts the display. Ryou’s happiness is always prominent regardless of who's looking, so it isn't exactly a secret.

“Hmm, I dunno. Maybe it's because everyone else after B-O has quit, as you know.” Satoru nods in acknowledgment, wishing she’d get on with it. “Yet not only is Ryou still here, but if you catch him at _just_ the right time, he looks like he might as well be on a warm, pristine beach with his toes in the sand.”

Okay, he knows exactly which expression she's referring to, but continues to play dumb.

“Are you telling me you _don't_ feel like that every day you come in, A-ko?” He deflects, holding his left hand out behind him for another hat.

“Neither do you,” she deflects right back and she’s not wrong. It's better now than it was before, even with the influx of orders after NYFW, but there are definitely days where he's tempted to stay home with Ryou. Exploring carnal pleasures sometimes seems more fun than the tenth 12-hour work day in a row.

He rolls his eyes, making a grasping motion with his hand to let her know he's waiting, but when he doesn't feel felt within a few seconds, he turns around to check what's the hold-up, going down one step on the ladder as he shifts. However, A-ko has moved, waiting at the bottom with both hands on the rails, and she looks _determined_ as she blocks his only route of escape.

“Can you tell me why that is?” A-ko’s expression has him worried she’ll shake him off if he doesn't respond immediately and correctly. “Why does Ryou look so happy all the time?!”

“Is this– are you confronting me?! Why don't you ask him yourself if you want to know that much?!” He yells back, gripping onto the shelf to anchor himself, just in case. He checks the window to make sure B-O and Ryou haven't overheard, but they're still chatting obliviously. Thank god.

“Because,” she hisses, eyes narrowing, “there's something going on that you're not telling me about.”

“Maybe, just maybe, he's a happy kind of guy, A-ko,” he says, frustratingly gesturing to Ryou with his thumb. Almost beckoned, Ryou looks inside the shop, sees Satoru pointing at him, and grins, giving a little wave. He's not sure if that helps or hurts his case, but still, he asks her, “See?”

A-ko snaps and starts rattling the ladder a little, just enough for the metal to make noise and scare him. It works because he juts out a leg and half-assedly kicks at her a few times, but she stands firm, dodging his foot as she continues her interrogation.

“There's a ratio of how often he looks _directly at you_ like that and how often he looks like that in general. Do you want to guess which one is more?”

“How do you know he isn't just, I don't know, zoning out while his eyes happen to be facing my direction–”

“Guess!” She demands, glaring up at him, and he hates that he could probably jump right over her small frame from his height, yet he's still cornered by her like a large dog and a small cat.  

“15:10?” He exasperatedly (and knowingly) low-balls.

“Try, like, 99:1!” A-ko yells and Satoru scoffs, which immediately makes her shake the ladder again.

“If you want me to believe you, don't exaggerate!” He chides, trying to angle one of his legs over her shoulder so he can plant his foot on the receptionist desk and flee. Unfortunately, she clamps a hand on the bottom of his thigh, effectively capturing him.

He looks down at her, terrified; she looks up, furious.

“Are the two of you dating?”

“What–”

“Are you and Ryou dating?”

He hesitates, not sure how to place her anger and if he wants it to finally become an open topic of discussion. He and Ryou have talked about it, how Satoru fears the dynamic of the shop will change if they let the other two know –  if they'll complain about favoritism, if they’ll find it awkward working with a couple, if one of them won't be supportive – and he was planning how to cross that bridge, strategically and prepared, until A-ko took matters into her own hands.

His hesitation cements her suspicions apparently because her face lights up as she beams and he gives in easily, his resolve crumbling at the first sign of positive reinforcement.

“ _Yes_ , but–”

“I knew it! I knew it!” She practically launches herself off the ladder and wiggles her hips, fists pumping into the air as she celebrates her victory.

“What? You knew?” Satoru asks, climbing down until both feet are on the floor. He approaches her, careful not to get bumped as she dances, and makes sure B-O and Ryou are still outside.

“Yep! Since Fashion Week. Well, I didn't know for sure, but I suspected something was going on. B-O agreed with me. Just so you know: you two aren't very subtle at all, if you were actively trying to keep it a secret.”

“We sort of were…” Satoru admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

A-ko giggles before her smile turns exasperated. “Yeah, like we wouldn't notice your newfound, persistent good mood, right?”

“Well, we had more help, which removes a lot of the stress–”

“Or the looks you two shared all the time. And how you're _always_ next to each other.”

“Potentially coincidental–”

“Or how you'd steal touches when you guys thought we weren't paying attention. Also, I accidentally saw you kiss one time. Sorry.”

Finally, Satoru blushes a little, all defenses suddenly shattered.

“OK, so you got me,” he sighs, crossing his arms and trying to muster a displeased look through his embarrassment. “Are you going to blab to B-O now?”

“I might,” she says, before she taps her finger on her chin. “I might not. I might need a little something to encourage me _not_ to…”

Satoru grimaces.

“I’ll buy dinner wherever you want tonight.”

“Five dinners.” She replies, instantly sharp and demanding.

“Two dinners.”

“Six–”

“I am only going as high as four,” Satoru jams a finger in her face as he interrupts her. “Don't bother trying for more. Say anything and you'll get _no_ dinners or lunch for the next two months.”

“Fine,” A-ko hisses back. “Four.”

“Four,” Satoru confirms and they shake on it just as Ryou and B-O come back in. Ryou looks curious, smiling as he asks what they're doing, and Satoru looks A-ko in the eyes and says, “Nothing, she just figured out that we’re dating.”

Her grip on his right hand goes from professional and unregistered to tight enough to actually cause a little pain and he cringes, laughing out as she screams at him. It's worth it, though; Ryou looks a little flustered and unsure if he should intervene, B-O says “Oh, nice” before going to hang up his coat in the breakroom, and A-ko tries to rip his arm off as she insists that their deal isn't annulled if he's the one who broke it and, really, it's all more than he could have hoped for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i also have a canis playlist on spotify [ here](https://open.spotify.com/user/deeppainpizza/playlist/0IGFenlTeeLyg7AuKAsrR2)
> 
> i write canis a lot to get out of ruts... and i doubt i'll ever be done writing for them because they have consumed my thoughts for like two years. i'll continue adding as i finish things and write out new ones.
> 
> i don't think this series has a fandom but i'm posting anyway, damn it. these have been in my docs far too long!


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: NSFW chapter

Satoru smiles to himself, watching Ryou cant his hips back against his fingers, two knuckles deep; he’s always used his left hand to push into him because he wants to feel it, wants to feel everything the way he's meant to and Ryou had shuddered when he had realized it the first time, knowing the reasons why without Satoru having to voice them. It's the sort of the thing others never noticed, if he used his right or left hand to do anything, but Ryou, of course, notices everything.

Now that they've stumbled through the first few weeks of exploration, they've really given themselves over. Tonight, Ryou’s fucking himself on Satoru’s hand, gripping the top of the headboard at either side of Satoru’s head like he’s about to rip the furniture in half, and he's a mess – flushed and hot to the touch, sweat-damp hair sticking to his face and neck, panting between the little noises that fall from his open mouth. His entire body is strung tight like wire outside of the instinctual glide of his hips. Satoru’s not sure they'll get any farther than this and he's entirely unconcerned. He can't take his eyes off of him, right hand still loosely wrapped around Ryou’s cock, and enjoying the show is just as satisfying.

Ryou’s incredible like this, animalistic and without inhibitions. Not once has he displayed the sort of self-consciousness that Satoru had when it was his turn and he thinks he can only blame Ryou’s trust in him. (He trusts him too, but Satoru has his pride, his image, a steady barrage of apprehensions. Ryou doesn't think the way he does. He treats Satoru like a compass and _trusts_.) But beyond that, Satoru likes the control and he likes being able to admire him like this. He steals glances constantly, in the shop and at home and in bed, but this is different.

There's a shift in the way Satoru looks at him and the way Ryou reacts to it.

It's not a silent promise that they’ll be having a late dinner that night, communicated through a wanting look when the others are busy. It's not a heated moment where they’re already memorizing each other and kiss with eyes open. This is softer, the sort of territory he didn't think he would reach with another person. Satoru loves him, he's in awe of him, he's grateful for him and his strength and his trust and devotion every single goddamn day, and suddenly, Ryou lifts his head from Satoru’s shoulder and catches his face and in seconds, his palm is cradling the back of his head, keeping it tilted up and facing toward him.

“Keep looking at me like that,” Ryou gasps, coming down harder on his knuckles and, after the initial half-second of surprise, Satoru does him a favor and grips his cock to match.

“I look at you like this all the time,” Satoru says, perfectly even, as he drags his lips along the inside of Ryou’s forearm. It's all he can reach, but he keeps his eyes locked on Ryou’s; he doesn't change his expression as requested, but it isn't as if he has to consciously hold it. He’s only more entranced, impressed and overjoyed that this is all his.

Satoru considers teasing him, asking him if he hadn't noticed, but Ryou answers first, choppy and struggling to get the words out. “I know, but, not like this, before–”

Ryou fucking _whines,_ cutting himself off, but his eyes never tear away as he bucks into and against both of his hands, hips stuttering in his desperation. Satoru can tells he's so close, he only needs a few more seconds, but he gives him a gentle push anyway, his voice low as he tells him, “Come on, Ryou, come for me…”

And, like he’s flicked a switch, Ryou does. Beautifully.


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: set pretty much immediately after the series end

Assembling a decent outfit is easy, but working around what Satoru has in USD is a headache. He doesn't let it on, though, letting Ryou pick out what he wants while he occasionally pops in with his opinion. Ryou has a good innate sense of style, it just relies too much on basics, but that's where Satoru comes in to recommend accentuating details.

Ryou’s twisting around in front of the mirrors, expression relaxed and curious as he checks how the pants fit, and Satoru smiles to himself from the bench, glad to see that face back. He leans back on his palms, stretching his legs out as he watches, and tries not to dwell too much on his relief that, eventually, they'll be coming home together. They don't have enough time left in the day to do anything but make their purchases and get ready for tonight, so he can't really get his hands on him to celebrate anyway.

Glancing out the window behind him, he checks the weather, then suddenly laughs too loud in the quiet, respectable store. The few patrons turn their heads toward him and he covers his mouth, muffling himself as he tries not to laugh as hard as he _really_ wants to. Ryou looks at him, just as surprised as anyone else, and sneaks over.

“Is everything OK?” Ryou asks, not really sure what's so funny since Satoru doesn't even have his phone out.

Satoru gestures toward the window and grins, “Everything is great.”

Ryou, as soon as he peeks out, starts to laugh too (granted, much more quietly, but his smile is bright and overjoyed and Satoru lingers on it). It's pouring outside and while many people have their umbrellas, some had trusted the weather reports that it _wasn't_ meant to rain today. Those unfortunate people already look drenched even though Satoru is fairly sure it wasn't even cloudy 15 minutes ago.

He's still practically giggling at the juxtaposition of his happiness and their misfortune and Ryou looks down at him, smug.

“Maybe you should have warned the meteorologists.”


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: allusions to nsfw

Satoru gently lifts Ryou’s arm off of his stomach and slides out from underneath, trying to get out of bed without disturbing him. Once he's free, he straightens up, stretching, and thinks maybe this weekend they'll finally buy a bigger bed. He's just in his underwear, so the cold of morning hits him quickly and he searches for a sweater that would have been tossed aside last night. 

Except he hears a deep chuckle from the bed, low and rough. He turns to face Ryou, who's smiling too brightly for someone who's just woken up. 

“What–”

“You're so beautiful,” Ryou immediately tells him in a voice that's cracking from sleep, without pretenses and still grinning. Satoru tries not to flush - he has a combination of sex hair  _ and _ bed head, he hasn't shaved or washed his face or brushed his teeth, and there's a possibility he still has dried come on his body – so he just laughs, sudden and unforced, as he looks over his shoulder toward the other wall. 

“Did you put a mirror on the desk without me noticing? Are you sure you're not distracted by your own reflection like a parrot?”

“No,” Ryou laughs, reaching out for Satoru’s wrist to pull him back into bed, “I'm definitely looking at you.” 


	5. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: nsfw but not necessarily porn...?

“I’m so glad I don't have actual neighbors,” Satoru sighs, trying look displeased, but he can still feel the high blush on his cheeks… and, well, the rest of his body. He's trying to light a cigarette, but his thumb keeps slipping off the flint wheel; he curses each time until the flame finally stays lit long enough and he's successful.

Ryou groans from beside him, melting into the bed, “Windoooow…”

Satoru grunts, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, and only stands halfway before he has to brace himself on the headboard due to the shaking in his legs. Too soon. Maybe he should have paced himself when he was riding Ryou for the last ten minutes. He chuckles disgruntledly while Ryou lifts his head up, concerned.

“What’s wrong? Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” he quickly answers back so he doesn't worry any more, “Just… got up too fast.”

Ryou’s concern dissipates and he asks, full of routine, “Did your back spasm or something?”

Satoru turns around to glare at him over his shoulder and Ryou’s already smiling cheekily. “ _No_ , my legs are shaking. A lot. You know, _from sex._ ” Then he adds, in a mutter. “That hasn't happened in awhile…”

“Ohhhh,” Ryou says sarcastically, like Satoru has just explained an elementary school concept, and Satoru wants to slap his hand over the little “o” his mouth makes. Ryou grins, suddenly less boyish, and he props himself up on his elbow, then leans forward to kiss the curve of Satoru’s spine. “I guess I should feel proud then.”

Satoru scowls, getting up the rest of the way to finally open up the patio door to filter out the smoke, then leans against the bedroom wall. “Why should you? I did most of the work.”

“Sure, but you probably did most of the work with girls too, right? Even if it was the bare minimum.”

Well, he's not wrong. He had invited a few girls back to his place in the past, but it was all pretty standard. Satoru breathes out a mouthful of smoke and doesn't reply right away; Ryou rolls onto his stomach and peeks his head out around the headboard to look at him, using his bent arm as a pillow, and Satoru crosses his arms, suddenly very much aware of the fact that he's wearing nothing except a cigarette between his fingers.

“Right?” Ryou asks again. “You can't even lie to me, I know how lazy you are when it’s not something you're obsessed with.”

“ _Right."_ Satoru finally admits, cornered – even if “obsessed” isn't the word he'd use himself.

“So I'm the difference, aren't I? You actually put forth some effort and enjoyed yourself,” Ryou laughs, with that little twinkle in his eye that he gets when he's really genuinely happy, and Satoru puts out his unfinished cigarette in the ashtray before stepping back toward the bed.

Reaching down, he pinches the cheek Ryou has all squished up and scowls more while he whines, asking, “Where did your humbleness go?”

“You took it,” Ryou laughs, bubbling out of him, and Satoru shoves him back into his normal spot, onto his back. Ryou’s still happy and laughing while he's tossed around, and Satoru throws a leg over him to straddle his hips, and Ryou’s still grinning even as he moves to run his hands up the outsides of his thighs. His good moods aren't forced anymore, like they were when they first met; Ryou's just _happy_ , like he's always deserved to be.

“Good,” Satoru says before he leans down and kisses his hairline and Ryou chuckles at it like it’s a joke.

“You know,” Ryou says curiously, fingers digging in to massage at Satoru’s hips as they mirror their previous arrangement, “it was probably your position that made your legs shake...”

“No, it was you,” Satoru tells him – because, really, he was partly responsible, Satoru hasn't had sex worth getting carried away with since he first started fooling around and it was all new and exciting – and Ryou laughs again, tangling a hand in his sweat-damp hair to pull him closer and press their mouths together.


	6. six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: NSFW! also light choking...

It was Ryou who started it, technically. Satoru had misplaced his hand while bracing himself and it was a half-second of light pressure over part of his throat and Satoru had apologized as soon as he realized it, but Ryou had inhaled sharply, moved his hand back into place, looked at him intently as if to say, _Let’s try_.

“Are you sure?” Satoru asks, not sure exactly what details hide in Ryou’s mysterious past, but Ryou nods, swallows hard, and Satoru shifts his weight to oblige; he’s been teasing him, their clothes are still on, but Satoru’s perched on his hips and as he increases the pressure, he rolls his hips into Ryou’s, to balance out whatever might be going in Ryou’s head. Ryou practically keens, pushing back against him, and Satoru can feel the ragged breath he takes in under his palm.

“Are you _sure?”_ He asks again, taking in the little details to make sure this isn’t going to end badly, but Ryou whines out his name, urging him to do again, and Satoru finally lets him have this, bearing down harder with his hips while he adjusts his grip to hold the sides of his throat rather than push on the top. Ryou shudders, body getting hotter already, and Satoru moves more earnestly, fingers digging in a little while he grinds his hips in continuous little strides (and he’s almost mad at himself for going along with it, for liking it so much himself).

Within a few moments, Ryou’s breathless, bucking up against him constantly, but every time Satoru lifts his hand to let him take in a full breath, Ryou’s fingers grip his wrist and won’t let him move and he moans, like he's trying to reassure Satoru that, yes, his cock is throbbing behind the denim, yes, he likes this, yes, he’s enjoying himself.

“God,” Satoru breathes, half of a laugh and mostly incredulous, and uses his other hand to swipe his thumb over Ryou’s bottom lip while the rest of his hand splays across his jaw; Ryou licks at the pad, cranes his neck to take the tip into his mouth and the rest of Satoru’s thought is abandoned. He teases him again, tracing his lips one more time, but then he offers his index and middle finger as a substitute, resting them against his mouth. Ryou darts his tongue out to lick from his palm to the tips before he takes them in, sucking around his knuckles and Satoru notices how dilated his eyes are, black pupils circled by little lines of blue.

His own heart is beating hard at this point, he’s a little breathy from the effort and the sights, and this isn’t exactly what he expected once they got home, but he’ll take it – Ryou is desperate, high-strung and Satoru wonders if he should be concerned that he likes it so much because he’s never really been in a relationship where this sort of thing has been alright, if it should even be alright in the first place. But Ryou seems to love it, Satoru can feel how hard he is with every glide of his hips, and Ryou knows he could tell Satoru to stop if it gets to be too much.

Satoru, however, in the less rational part of his brain that’s had too much fun exploring with Ryou, also wants to see how far he can take this. They can talk about it in detail afterward because right now, Ryou is still very much into this and so is Satoru and he’d like to see exactly what kinds of faces Ryou can make with his lips sucking around Satoru’s fingers, if he can get him to come with every article of clothing still on his body.

“Your jeans are so damp,” Satoru teases, voice coming out lower than usual as he stretches his fingers apart; Ryou immediately tilts his head back, tracing the ‘V’ between them with his tongue, “Did you already come?”

Satoru knows the answer, but Ryou shakes his head, eyes shutting like he’s trying not to fall apart, and he looks off to the side a little; Satoru uses his thumb and pinky finger on either side of his jaw to guide his head back, to look directly at him.

“Are you about to?” He asks and Ryou nods, eyebrows knitting together. Satoru figures he really doesn’t need much more, so he keeps moving his hips as he has been, keeps applying the same weight across his hand. “You really like this, don’t you?” Ryou nods again and Satoru is finally concerned by his lack of words, aside from his mouth being occupied, and he asks with a little force behind his tone, “Why?”

Ryou sticks true to his word and answers nearly anything Satoru directly asks, gasping out, “I love your hands–” He’s so close, Satoru can hear it in his pitch, and he withdraws his hand enough for him to speak more clearly, but Ryou swears out in English and pulls Satoru’s hand back, licks at his palm and the valleys between his fingers between thoughts. “I have since we met. And I trust you– and it’s both at the same time, so–” Ryou groans, cutting himself off, and clumsily runs the flat of his tongue over the lines on his hand and, urged on, Satoru presses down harder on both his hips and his throat and that’s finally enough; Ryou tenses up, his whole body stuttering, and he’s normally so quiet, but the strangled noise he makes is so loud that Satoru presses his palm the rest of the way over his mouth to muffle him, which only seems to make it better for him judging by the way Ryou sounds more desperate as he rides it out. Satoru waits until he starts to come down, then he lifts his hands up – and they’re both breathing hard while Satoru watches him, drinks in his wild hair and deep blush and the red marks over his face and neck, and Ryou looks just slightly embarrassed, partly from his own spectacle and the way Satoru stares at him.

“Um,” Ryou starts.

“I love you,” Satoru blurts out, with the grace of a teenager. It’s not the first time he’s said it and it’s fine when Ryou says it first yet it’s always such an obstacle to get it out of his mouth even if he’s thinking it half the time he’s looking at Ryou, but fuck, does he mean it and he needs to prove that, compared to whatever violence Ryou had in his past, this is different. And, god, he's beautiful like this, one of the best things Satoru’s ever seen, he wants to take pictures of him for when he can't recall every detail, this has always been different than whatever he suffered through before and it always will be and he hopes Ryou knows that without Satoru having to lay it all out.

Ryou blinks a couple times as the color in his face deepens because he _knows_ Satou means it when he actually says it unprovoked, but he clearly caught Ryou off-guard and he thinks, maybe, he ruined the moment with his general inability to hand out affection in a normal way.

But, on the other hand, maybe he didn’t give Ryou enough credit when it comes to dealing with him because Ryou laughs out a few seconds later - in a good way, in a way that Satoru wishes he could hear every day - and he’s still grinning as he reaches out to undo the front of Satoru’s pants and dips inside to wrap his hand around his still-hard cock. Satoru shivers, slumping a little to meet him halfway, and Ryou happily kisses up the column of his throat, licking off the light sheen of sweat he earned from messing around fully clothed in the middle of summer.

“Can we do that again sometime?” Ryou asks above the little noises Satoru makes as his hand rolls over the head of his cock. “I really–”

“Yes,” Satoru gasps, bucking into his fist, answering him before he has to give any reason. He's already panting and grasping onto fistfuls of Ryou’s shirt, having kept his own needs at bay while he focused on Ryou. “Absolutely.”

Ryou noses the corner of his jaw and Satoru can feel his grin press against the curve of his neck and he thinks it might really be okay to push the boundaries a little. God knows they've done it enough of that already.

(A few weeks later, Ryou’s fucking into him, grip bruising as he pulls his hips back to meet his thrusts each time, but Satoru barely notices when one of his hands slides up his back until it lightly clasps around his throat and Ryou asks from behind him, “Can I?” And, finally, some moments later, Satoru gets it. It isn't about the roughness or Ryou being more familiar with something less gentle; it's the trust, the light-headedness, giving control to someone with good intentions. When he comes – untouched, black fading in at the edges of his vision, his whole body shaking - Ryou’s other hand moves over his mouth to keep him quiet just as Satoru had done to him; as he settles down, panting into the fisted sheets, Ryou runs his nails through his hair, from the base of his skull to his hairline, then tugs him up gently, mutters that he loves him the same as Satoru had, and starts to move his hips again and Satoru thinks, with certainty, that it really is okay.)


	7. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryou reappears in the doorway a few seconds later, shakes the hair out of his face – as long as Satoru’s seen it – then says, “I was going to… uh, trim?” Ryou seems to forget the word, but he imitates a trimmer going over his skull.
> 
> A buzz cut! Satoru’s heart skips a beat.
> 
> “You–” Satoru starts, not a personal fan of bald guys but a big fan of Ryou’s beautiful, inky hair, “You want to shave it off?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a very mild nsfw mention in this one :^)

“Do you have trimmers?” Ryou asks suddenly one day, rummaging in their dresser in the bedroom. 

“Yeah,” Satoru replies from the couch, setting aside his magazine, “why?”

Ryou reappears in the doorway a few seconds later, shakes the hair out of his face – as long as Satoru’s seen it – then says, “I was going to… uh, trim?” Ryou seems to forget the word, but he imitates a trimmer going over his skull.

A buzz cut! Satoru’s heart skips a beat.

“You–” Satoru starts, not a personal fan of bald guys but a big fan of Ryou’s beautiful, inky hair, “You want to shave it off?”

“It just seemed easiest since it's getting long.”

“We could just go to a salon,” Satoru replies flatly, having been frightened for nothing over Ryou’s practicality. “You could keep your hair. I've been going to the same one for years, we could go there.”

“I haven't gone in a long time… and I was thinking that it's something I'd like to do myself.”

“I have scissors,” Satoru explains, like he’s talking to a child. “You can use those… and keep your hair.”

“Oh, so you like my hair?” Ryou asks cheekily, tugging on a long, wavy lock.

“It’s your decision,” Satoru deflects sourly, pushing for Ryou’s autonomy at every opportunity, but then thinks of Ryou entirely bald and adds, “but I do like it.”

“Okay. I can try. I mean, it can’t be that hard, can it?”

“People only go to school for it and it’s one of the most outward aspects of self-expression,” Satoru says, too involved in design to brush off its importance, but he withdraws his knee-jerk sarcasm, opts to soothe with enthusiasm instead. “But even I trim my own bangs when I get too busy to make an appointment! I could help, I think.”

From the bedroom doorway, Ryou smiles in that heart-melting way he has a talent for. “Will you? I’d like that a lot, actually.”

“Er, sure,” Satoru says, unsure now that a portion of the responsibility’s been passed to him. He can trim his own bangs; he’s never supervised a haircut. “I’ll get everything together.” 

A few minutes later, Ryou’s standing in front of the bathroom sink, pinching a portion of his hair between his fingers with scissors gripped tightly in his other hand. He’s concentrating, working up the courage, trying to decide on a length.

Satoru, leaning against the wall, crosses his arms.

“If you’re scared of screwing up, the salon is open for another four hours. Just something to keep in mind.”

“No!” Ryou says, ultra-focused on his reflection in the mirror. “I want to do it. It’s important.”

“Okay, okay!” Satoru sighs. “Remember not to cut all haphazardly. Don’t need you looking like a kid hacked away at you.”  

Ryou whines, impatience and insecurity, and Satoru thinks he’s about to make the first cut on impulse – until Ryou shoves the scissors toward him, yelling, begging, " _You_   do it!” 

“Me?!” Satoru yells back, stepping away. “Listen, a trim is totally different than a whole head! Besides, you wanted to do it yourself, right?!”

“I changed my mind! I want you to do it!” 

“Don’t trust me with this!” Satoru has his hands up in defense even as Ryou keeps offering him the scissors − offering him the honor − and Satoru can only think of his sweet smile a few moments ago and how many ways he can make Ryou look like the human equivalent of a chopped salad. Wait, that smile− “Don’t tell me this was your plan all along! Giving up just to make me do it?!”

Ryou looks at him with confusion, but doesn’t seem to be playing dumb as he holds the scissors limply. “No? I was thinking that you’d do a better job. What’s the difference if it’s you or me that does it?” 

“I can see the back of your head, for one.” Satoru agrees, snatching the tool from him. “Go get a chair and a towel. And don’t get mad at me if it’s not flattering.”

Not long after, Ryou’s sitting on one of the dining chairs in front of the bathroom mirror with a towel draped over his shoulders and a pleased-as-punch smile on his face. Satoru’s wondering if he can just shave down one side of Ryou’s head and call it a day, too nervous to make the first cut. That’s trendy. He could probably make it work. If not, they could update his wardrobe to  _ make _ it work. 

“Not so easy, is it?” Ryou laughs and Satoru leans over his shoulder, brandishing the scissors like a weapon.

“No shit. I didn’t want to be doing this in the first place. Now it’s on me if it looks bad.”

“I’ll be happy with whatever you come up with.” 

“Have some self-respect,” Satoru mumbles, grabbing the comb off the sink again. 

“You’ve brushed my hair, like, six times. I think it’s good.” 

“I’m trying to buy myself time,” Satoru shoots back truthfully  as he runs it over Ryou’s hair. There’s no drag, just his silky hair effortlessly slipping through the teeth, and he sighs. Ryou’s right. He can only brush his non-existent tangles out so many times. “I’m… gonna do it. For the last time, what length do you want it?”

“Shoulders,” Ryou says, for the third time. “That’s my only request. Have fun.”

Satoru takes a deep breath as he runs the comb down, stops at about the right place, and snips off the first tendril. 

“Yay! You did it!” Ryou congratulates him, as if his head isn’t the site of one big experiment, and Satoru pulls the comb down the rest of the way. Ryou’s hair slips out and rests against his neck, well above his shoulder. 

“Uhh,” is all that Satoru has, not even an apology. He just knows it’s wrong and his brain tries to reconcile the fact that it’s wrong and he’s responsible and it’s all going to end so, so badly. 

Ryou peeks at it, then laughs. “It’s fine. That’ll work. Don’t worry about it.”

Satoru releases his breath and moves on. He makes more cuts, trying to keep it as even as possible, and Ryou goes quiet as he enjoys the attention. It’s a comfortable silence despite being nearly as nerve-wracking as the first few times they had sex, honestly. 

This, however, has public consequences, such as transforming his model boyfriend into a candidate for mange. But, if he figured that out, he can do this too. In  _ fact _ – he thinks, emboldened – he knows more about cutting hair than he did about same sex bedroom stuff. He actually has an advantage this time! 

Finishing out one side isn’t too bad, but going around the curve of his neck, he feels like the platform has changed and he’s out of his depth again. This would be easily resolved by letting a professional do it, but Ryou’s decided to be a hassle. 

“Why won’t you go to a salon again? Is there an actual reason?” Satoru asks gruffly, still struggling to keep the ends even. He questions it out of a mix of frustration and curiosity; he’s determined to finish, but he’s not sure if this event is going to be the new norm or just this once or what. 

“I guess,” Ryou chirps airily in contrast to Satoru’s strife. “I’ve had the same style for a long time, never even cut it. I thought it’s about time to reinvent myself. And I want to do that myself. If that makes sense.” 

“I think so?” Satoru replies. “In any case, it’s still  _ me _ doing it, not you.” 

“Like I said, doesn’t make a difference to me,” Ryou replies, still light and unconcerned. “Me or you, it means the same.”

Satoru can feel his own disgruntled expression peter off at that. He busies himself with the job at hand, but gently pries. “So… it’s symbolic?” 

“Yeah,” Ryou says with sincerity. He relaxes, tilting his head back a little toward him, and Satoru juts out two fingers to roughly push his head right back into the correct position. Ryou holds it, grinning to himself for annoying him.  “I dunno. It’s not like I dislike it. It’s just that I see my reflection and it doesn’t feel like me. It feels like an old version of me and I don’t feel like that anymore. Does that make sense?” 

“I mean, I haven’t personally felt that way, but I don’t think it’s uncommon?” Satoru murmurs, then jokes at his own expense. “It’s not like I have room to talk. Did you know I’m not a natural blond?” 

“No kidding?” Ryou asks, laughing, and Satoru smiles to himself at the sound. “What made you change?” 

“Not as noble as your reasoning. I just wanted to stand out, blond wasn’t too weird, then I liked it. It’s about as shallow as that.”  

“I think it suits you,” Ryou shares. He still looks serene as Satoru keeps snipping away at his hair clamped between his fingers, creating what's bound to be a disaster. Even so, some of his nervousness subsides. 

If it’s terrible, they can shave it. It’ll grow back. If it makes Ryou happy, Satoru will get used to it.

“I haven’t even thought about dyeing it back. It’s just part of me now... so I guess I do understand where you’re coming from. If I didn’t like my reflection, like if I woke up tomorrow with my hair back to black, I would want to change it.” 

“Can I embarrass you?” Ryou asks, unrelated to anything, and Satoru frowns. 

“I’m already out of my element, so sure.”

“I just don’t want to be reminded of anything that came before you,” Ryou says, with his bare heart on his sleeve and no shame. No color in his cheeks. Like he’s just presenting some sort of plain fact. “I have a new start. I want to look like it too.”  

“You’ve been here, like, two years,” Satoru mutters, blushing hard enough for the both of them, and concentrates extra hard on finishing out the last couple inches. 

“I only recently accepted that I’m here permanently, I think, or I would have done this sooner,” Ryou laughs. Satoru glances down, notices that Ryou’s hands are fidgeting. 

“Well, in that case…” Satoru says as he finishes out the last cuts, “I’m happy to give you the worst haircut you’ll ever get.” 

“I dunno, I had a kind of bowl cut when I was little.” 

“I’m absolutely sure this is worse.” Satoru reassures, then pulls the towel off of his shoulders and brushes the hair of him. It’s… it’s not great, but there could be hope. “Go take a shower…. We’ll see what it looks like when its dry.”

* * *

A half-hour later, Satoru − with his face in his hands − begs him to please,  _ please  _ let him take him to a professional because it’s salvageable as it is, the symbolism has been achieved, and the best way to enjoy a reinvention of self is to actually look good after the change, and he currently does not, objectively, and Satoru simply can’t let him walk around like this on good conscious. 

As testament to how bad it is, Ryou − brows furrowed as he frowns as his reflection and tugs at his uneven, weed-whacked hair − actually agrees. 


	8. eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grinning again − Satoru can’t see it, but he knows, he can hear it in voice − Ryou says, “Actually,” and moves his hand away, to which Satoru groans at in protest, before his arm is peeled away, “I _do_ wanna look now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw

“I can’t even look at you,” Ryou breathes − it’s partly a laugh, the exhale skimming over Satoru’s leg hooked over Ryou’s shoulder − and Satoru lifts the arm slung over his eyes. He was enjoying himself before that. 

“Are you mocking me or are you serious?” Satoru asks as he peeks out. Some of his usual edge is taken off by the fact that Ryou is buried inside of him, but that’s never been enough to entirely shut him up. 

Ryou laughs again, ducking his face toward Satoru’s calf, and his hips slow down to a crawl. Maintenance, rather than purpose. He actually is looking away now as he drags his lips along his shin and mutters, “You’re too much…” 

“I wasn’t even doing anything!” Satoru squirms, unable to get much purchase with the pillow under his hips; he can’t even try to grind his hips and imply that he’d _really_ like him to pick up the pace. The angle is wrong, both of his legs are over Ryou’s shoulders, and he doesn’t feel like contorting himself to brace his arms against the headboard and rock down. Instead, he grabs at Ryou’s hips, pulls him forward as soon as he pulls back again, and Ryou inhales sharply before he fucking bites the side of his leg. 

It’s not as hard as he could have bitten him. Ryou _has_ bitten him before, left a bruise on his shoulder and felt terrible for a week. This is a warning, followed by a soothing kiss, and Satoru swats at him. 

“Will you hurry up already?! So what if you’re about to come?!”

Ryou hushes him, still pushes into him at that exhaustingly slow pace, and kisses down his leg until he can’t reach further. Then, he gently cups his hand underneath his ankle and bends his leg, keeps going until he reaches his tendon. Satoru thinks he’s done until he bends it further and plants a kiss on the arch of his foot. 

“Gross,” Satoru murmurs, watching him, then makes an ugly noise as Ryou licks from his heel to the ball of his foot. It’s a mix of laughter, anguish, and disgust, but he can feel Ryou throb inside of him anyway, and Satoru screams out, “What is _wrong_ with you?!”

Aside from a grin, Ryou doesn’t respond, just wraps one arm around Satoru’s thighs to pin them to his chest, and picks up at the pace he abandoned a moment ago. This time, Satoru does shut up, falling back against the mattress, and welcomes back the feeling of Ryou fucking him like he means it, moaning out in relief as his nerves relight. 

(It used to feel awkward, alien, but over time, he’s managed to shift his perspective, associated this with how Ryou feels, quieted the embarrassed voice inside of him until tolerance turned into actual enjoyment. Now, it feels like giving himself over to him − something he can’t do for any other person, he’s never been particularly good at sharing − and it’s like breaking open his chest, letting Ryou inside... and it’s half the appeal. Wrecking and being wrecked, it’s mutual.)

It’s barely a few minutes before Ryou develops little hitches to his breath, grips too hard on Satoru’s waist, and he won’t look at him again, so Satoru does the next best thing aside from prying open his eyes himself: starts calling out his name, repeating it to keep his attention in a tone he knows Ryou won’t be able to tune out.

Mid-syllable, Ryou’s hand seals over Satoru’s mouth, but his hips still move, almost erratically now, and he’s leaning over so that his hair falls into his face and Satoru’s muscles and joints ache at the angle he’s forced into, but it feels good in its discomfort, like the slide of Ryou’s cock, and he smiles under his fingers, even as Ryou grits out a warning, “I’m not going to last long−”

Satoru rips his hand off, tells him definitively, “I don’t care.” 

Ryou’s reaction is quick. Instantly, he twists his hand out of Satoru’s grip to pin his wrist against the headboard, then, unexpectedly, his other hand sinks into Satoru’s hair, pushes it out of his face before he cups his cheek and Satoru bites into the flesh of his palm without hesitation, skin pinched between his canines. He catches Ryou’s eyes as he does it, sees the reaction for himself.

Ryou unravels then (always waiting, but never asking for punishment; the occasional gift is electrifying). His nails dig into Satoru’s scalp, his fingers tug on his hair as he comes, pulsating and pouring into him, and Satoru seethes, as victorious as he is disappointed; he wanted this, practically asked for it, but also would have happily accepted more time. But Ryou doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking him through it, keeps moving even after the moment has passed, and Satoru lets him until he can’t fight his body, softening despite his best efforts.

“Hey− hey, you can stop, it’s okay,” he starts, tapping his arm. 

Silently, Ryou pulls back, shifts Satoru’s legs so they’re both on the same shoulder, and replaces his cock with his fingers. His thighs are gathered in Ryou’s other arm, restricted just as before, and Satoru tenses as he arches back, tightening around his knuckles, and Ryou buries his flushed smile in his knee.

“Still good?” Ryou asks, knowing full-well that it is. 

Truthfully, Ryou knows his body better than he does himself; it’s not surprising, it’s in Ryou’s nature to catalogue everything new that he learns, and this would be of the utmost importance to him. It’s just a few curls of his fingers before Satoru lurches and shivers, goes back to shielding his face with his arm.

“Better than before?” Ryou asks cheekily, using his free hand to stroke Satoru’s dick; Satoru, on the other hand, swallows back a whine before he mumbles, “Fuck off.” 

Grinning again − Satoru can’t see it, but he knows, he can hear it in voice − Ryou says, “Actually,” and moves his hand away, to which Satoru groans at in protest, before his arm is peeled away, “I _do_ wanna look now.” 

Yeah, he’s grinning, Satoru confirms as he glares at him. Boyish, endearing. He’s lost the hard edge of discipline he had just minutes ago and Satoru likes both sides equally, so it’s no loss. Satoru closes his eyes, tilts his head back, lets Ryou look while he plays him like a fiddle. Because he doesn’t yank his arm back to hide again, Ryou releases his wrist, takes him back into his hand, and Satoru bucks against the touch without reservation. 

“Hey,” Ryou starts like he isn’t three fingers deep inside him and using his own mess as lube (then ignores how Satoru snaps “ _What_?!” in favor of pressing hard against his prostate to make him writhe), “were you actually grossed out when I kissed your foot?” 

“Yes!” Satoru yells in exasperation, close even with Ryou distracting him. If he’d shut up, Satoru wouldn’t last much longer himself, balling up a fistful of the bedsheets with one hand. But, still, he’s annoyed, so he doesn’t drop the conversation entirely. “Why are you asking now?!”

“I just wanted you to know I almost came when you laughed. It was cute. I’d do it again.” He says plainly, sweetly, and Satoru slaps one hand on the headboard as leverage to fuck himself on Ryou’s hand to hurry things along if Ryou insists on running his mouth.

“Seriously, what’s wrong with you?!” Satoru, a hypocrite, cries before he moans as Ryou easily adapts to the rough grind of his hips, keeps hitting his mark. As wound up as he is, it really _doesn’t_ take much more; one squeeze of Ryou’s hand and a well-timed press of his fingers and it’s over for him, gasping out as he spills over Ryou’s knuckles. 

A moment later, once he has his wits about him, he’s satisfied, almost exhausted with his chest heaving, though he’s not happy about it. His frown doesn’t match Ryou’s still-cheeky little smile, and, tiredly, he drags his hand across Ryou’s face in a feather-light “slap.” He even uses his left hand to avoid any possibility of _actually_ slapping him with any sort of force. 

Understanding his protest, Ryou kisses his palm as it passes, promises, “I won’t do it again.”


End file.
